


maybe (i miss you)

by messymortal



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up, not rlly but we can hope, sad but the ending is hopeful, this is a few months into the future tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 19:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13278807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messymortal/pseuds/messymortal
Summary: Ever since their breakup, Louis has been missing Harry. A lot. After one too many lonely days he decides to let himself seem desperate for once and calls. Maybe Harry's just as desperate.(This starts out sad, but the ending is hopeful, i swear. ik the title is fucking cheesy, the whole vibe is very aesthetic though.)





	maybe (i miss you)

**Author's Note:**

> hi,  
> i haven't written fanfiction in years and i don't think i've ever really written one in english, so this might be completely shit. (hope it's not though) feedback would be appreciated, but i know that you always forget that as a reader. anyways, hopefully you'll enjoy this, have a nice day. don't be sad, there are flowers out there,  
> f  
> (i also wrote harry's pov of this)

The garden in front of him becomes a dusty pink at dusk. He’s atop of a hill, overlooking the city and the shoreline, a huge maze of tiny, crooked streets between tall houses with windows full of red and white and yellow flowers. No more than half an hour ago his world was painted in decadent gold and orange, a landscape splashed with the colors of the setting sun. The sunrise on the horizon, gold rays on blue sea, was beautiful, but now the light is dying and the last remaining flecks of sun leave a hint of purple on the flowers. Darkness gingerly creeps in from the old stone walls all around, in between the flowerbeds, nestling into rose petals and ivy leaves.

Louis lets his eyes roam the peaceful scenery and continues to dry his hair. He stepped out of the shower just in time to catch the last strands of gold on the sea and got a bit stuck in all the beauty. A part of him wanted to take a picture, until he was reminded of a dimpled smile and _“live in the moment, Lou.”- “Shut up, you pretentious hipster!”_ and laughter in front of a different beautiful view, halfway around the world. An eternity ago.

It seems like he can’t ever quite forget the way it felt. How happy he was, for the moment, how it felt like they reached across the universe together, like they were eternal. It was neither short nor sweet, but entirely _good_. Yet at the same time he has trouble remembering it, really remembering. He can’t recall the way his hair smelled or how his arm fit around his waist, sometimes he even forgets the way they used to kiss. His touch, his lips, his hands all blur together into a hazy fog of glee and heavy content that eliminates details.

And then there’s pain, a lot of it. Because Louis misses it, all of it, all the time. The casual touches, the soft kisses, the secret smiles, the teasing winks, the whispered conversations, Harry, Harry, _Harry._ It makes it difficult to breathe sometimes, like he can’t quite get enough air on his own. There are days when this is all he thinks about, dreams about even. He had to force himself to go out, meet people, get drunk, needing to distract himself for a while to be able to write songs about anything besides Harry. The first few months hurt like hell. But it’s gotten better eventually, as it always does. And he may not be entirely okay or good right now, but he’s at a beautiful house in Italy, it’s warm and there are roses in the garden. He’s going to be fine.

The sun has finally set and the night is approaching quickly, so Louis turns his back to the view and goes back into the house. He throws his towels onto one of the couches in the spacious living area and heads to the suitcase in his bedroom to pull on a soft hoodie and sweatpants. His bare feet make a small sound on the stone tiles as he enters the kitchen. The house is vast and empty and the darkness is streaming in through the wide windows. A fresh breeze is blowing through the open back door and Louis shivers a bit as he prepares himself a tea. He grab his steaming cup of tea with autious fingers and sits down in the threshold of the back door. The concrete underneath his soles shares the heat of the day with his cold feet and the roses in the garden sway themselves to sleep in the soft wind. Louis lets out a sigh. Maybe he will actually be fine someday. The night air is still warm, heavy from the day’s heat, but it has already begun to cool down in the darkness. He inhales deeply and breathes out slowly through his nose. His left hand rubs almost unconsciously across his browbone, his eyes. He sighs again. The tea is hot through the mug in his hands, he blows carefully onto the surface to cool it down before taking a sip. Louis has drunk tea in a hundred different countries all around the globe, but he will always associate it with home, with waking up to his siblings running around, with his mum making breakfast on a Sunday. He desperately tries to banish the thought that Harry gave him a different kind of home.

He misses home. Both kinds. Louis had hoped to see his family more often when the band went on hiatus, but in the end he still got caught in a frenzy of writing, recording, promoting and performing. He spent more time with them, but not nearly as much as he liked. Louis made himself a mental reminder to text Lottie and maybe facetime Fizzy in the next couple of days. He doesn’t think about Harry. Except maybe he does. How could he not, when Harry’s face is plastered all over social media, magazines and advertisements promoting his album and the movie and his TV appearances. He hates it. It reminds him too much of all he’s los. It reminds him how he should be celebrating all this success _with_ Harry, next to him, instead of just telling interviewers how proud he is. Because Louis truly is so proud and so incredibly happy for Harry. But he yearns so much to be with him when he gets all the recognition he deserves and it kind of breaks Louis’ heart to know that he never got to see Harry's face when his album released or the movie premiered. It really breaks Louis’ heart to know that he probably won’t see it next time either. They haven’t really talked ever since they ended their relationship. It had been mutual, too many small fights and all the problems with management and fans and stress that led to a big, terribly uncomfortable conversation. They couldn’t keep it up anymore, they were both exhausted. Sometimes Louis doesn’t know if he can keep it up without Harry either. But reaching out always felt too desperate, too clingy, too uncomfortable. Louis used to wish they had met in a different universe, where they were ordinary people, without pressure from all sides to always be on their best (and most heterosexual) behavior. Now he just wished he’d feel better. The universe wouldn’t change for them, but maybe his heart could eventually.

A wave of sadness overwhelm him as he drinks his tea in silence, his brows drawing together at the thought of Harry. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and flips it around between his fingers. The screen light up. _9:34pm._ A message from his agent and a couple in a groupchat with his friends. Louis ignores them and scrolls down. Nearly at the bottom of his chats he sees the familiar icon, a photo he took of Harry years ago, smiling widely in front of an ice cream shop. The pain is almost physical in its intensity. Louis’ fingers move on their own accord and open the chat. _Happy Birthday!_ – _Thank you!_ are the last messages, from February, several months ago. A few weeks before that the same exchange in opposite directions. Before that…he’d rather not think about their constant messaging, full of unnecessary emojis, stupid puns and selfies. His eyes start to sting and he blinks hastily. Louis looks out onto the city, now plunged in darkness, and the quiet sea. The flowers in the garden growing softly against the old walls. He breathes in and out, slowly, deliberately. Tries his best to calm down and keep his hands from shaking or his tears from flowing. He takes another deep breath. He looks down on his phone again. Breathes. Maybe it’s time to be desperate. Maybe he needs to be uncomfortable to feel right again. He traces the horizon with his eyes. The clear night air fills his lungs and he lets it out an audible sigh. Blinks slowly. Then he presses the call button.

It rings down the line. Louis waits. His fingers are trembling.

It rings again. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears.

On the third or fourth ring someone picks up. Louis forgets how his lungs work.

_“Hello?”_

Louis sucks the air in sharply and chokes on spit. He can’t speak.

_“Hey? Are you okay?”_

Louis coughs and steels himself. Be desperate and clingy and uncomfortable for once. _“Uh, yeah, hi?”_

There’s a short pause and Louis quickly considers just hanging up or saying his name at least, as Harry says: _“Louis?”_ His voice sounds just like it always did when he says his name and his tone is full of disbelief and something Louis can’t place. Louis chuckles awkwardly. He used to be so comfortable around Harry, he’d forget the meaning of the word ‘awkward’. _“Yah… can we maybe talk for a bit? Only if that’s okay, I don’t want to bother you or anything, if you’re in a hurry, tell me…”_ Louis rambles. He bites on his lower lip to stop himself and hopes his hands will stop shaking so he won’t drop his phone. _“Um, sure..? I don’t have anything planned right now.”_ Harry stills sounds confused, a mix of familiarity and distance between them. They know each other so well and at the same time they have no idea who they are now. Louis bites his lips until it tastes bloody at the thought of that. He chuckles to keep the sobbing inside. _“Okay, I have to admit, I’m not quite sure why I called you, but mainly I just want to tell you how incredibly proud I am of you and you deserve all the success in the world and you were so great in Dunkirk even though you’ve never done that before and the album was so fucking good I pretty much cried the whole way through the first time I listened to it and…”_ Louis draws in a deep breath and sobs quietly, trying to regain composure. “ _I’m not trying to bother you or upset you right now, I just need you to know that you’re an amazing person and I’ll always have your back and… y’know. Fuck. I’m sorry. I think that’s what I really wanted to say. I’m sorry, Haz.”_

There are tears all over his cheeks now and he doesn’t even bother to wipe them away, swallowing harshly and lifting his eyes, desperately focusing on the calm night around him instead of the impending heartbreak. Louis tries not to think about how long it’s quiet on the other end of the line or how many different equally terrible ways there are for Harry to tell him to fuck off or how he at least hadn’t hung up and why the fuck did he even do that? He fails miserably, instead thinking about it a lot, lot, lot and is well on his way to a panic attack when a deep voice interrupts the downward spiral in his head. _“Lou, I…. Thank you. And.. I’m sorry, too.”_ Harry sounds a bit choked up and Louis tries his best not to interpret what that means. There’s a deep breath on the other end of the line. _“Fuck.”_ Harry whispers, more to himself. _“Fuck, Lou, I’ve waited so long for…”_ Another long inhale. _“I miss you. Do you think I could see you sometime?”_ Harry’s voice is steady now, maybe a bit bashful in the end. Louis is helplessly endeared. _“Yes, yeah, absolutely, I miss you, too, yeah…”_ He is almost breathless with nervous energy and full of hope, a tentative smile growing in his tearstained face. He can hear Harry sighing quietly with relief. _“Good, great, can we... uh, where are you right now?”_ Louis feels a warmth spreading through his body from the middle of his chest. Harry didn’t tell him to fuck off, Harry wants to meet with him, Harry _misses him._ “ _In Italy, but I’m leaving for London tomorrow morning.”_ Louis feels like he entered a different reality or someone slipped him hallucinogenic drugs or he fell asleep and is dreaming, he must be, because Harry says he’s in London at the moment and they decide on a time and place to meet, he's going to see Harry again tomorrow and that can't be reality after so much time without him. They choose a small coffee shop that they’ve used as a meeting spot for dates and their friends for years. It’s all so familiar, they’ve done this a hundred times before, calling and planning to meet there, Louis feels like he’s going to faint. The only thing that feels real and tangible is neither Harry’s voice in his ear nor the words he’s saying or the plans Louis is confirming, but only the warm concrete under his feet and the roses in front of him. They make their plans and it’s silent again for a bit, awkwardness and insecurity creeping in again, but Louis is too elated to let them. _“Alright, thanks, I’ll let you go then and I’ll see you tomorrow, bye!”_ He coughs and it’s a bit unnatural. He almost let an entirely inappropriate _I love you_ slip out just then. Louis blushes and he's glad nobody else can see him in his little garden paradise. If Harry knows what just happened, he doesn’t let it show and just answers smoothly: _“Sure, Have a good night!”_ Louis moves to hang up, giddy grin forming slowly, as Harry pipes up again. _“And Louis? Just so you know, I cried through your album, too. It’s gorgeous.”_ Then he hangs up.

Louis stares blankly at his phone for a second, before quickly standing up and walking around the garden, eager to release all his pent up energy and euphoria. He leans over the wall, enjoying the view of the city by night and the lights reflected on the calm water in the bay. The night is quiet and as he looks at the sky he sees eternity between the stars. The smell of the roses is a bit overwhelming, but the air feels fresh in his lungs, like it can only feel at night. He rests his arms on the rough stone and lays his chin down on his wrists. Now he’s on eyelevel with the horizon, stretching out as far as he can see, a straight line somewhere in the water. Louis takes a slow breath through his nose and lets out a contented sigh. A lazy smile wanders across his face.

He’s going to be okay after all.

 


End file.
